


Touch of the Martian Sun

by ryukoishida



Series: Stars in Our Blood [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Iron-Blooded Orphans AU, M/M, gundam au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9843659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: The rising sun on Mars is dazzling – disorienting, almost.“Shouldn’t you still be resting in bed?”Otabek settles beside him, two cans of chocolate-flavored protein drink in his hand, and he offers one to the other man.“I got bored,” Yuri takes it with a nod of thanks, but he doesn’t drink it, just rolls the can between his hands.[Gundam (Iron-Blooded Orphans ‘Verse) AU]





	

**Author's Note:**

> That Gundam AU that literally nobody asked for. Also includes some Mila/Sara because I couldn’t resist. This is one of the most self-indulgent things I’ve ever written, probably. You don’t need to know anything about the Gundam ‘verse except it’s kids piloting giant fighting robots.

“Yuri, what the hell are you doing?”

 

His captain’s voice is grainy through the intercom, but his hands – slender, graceful, scarred with old and recent wounds – continue to move like a fluttering dance, pushing buttons and pulling levers.

 

Every movement delicate and precise. Deadly.

 

Connected through the Alaya-Vijnana System embedded into his spine, his mobile suit, a customized version of Rhyannon – towering at over 18 meters tall and made of nano laminate armour painted with contrasting shades of ink black and cardinal red – propels itself across the field in smooth, effective arcs as if it’s an extension of his own body.

 

A red warning sign flashes hastily in the left corner of his monitor: one of his short-barrel cannons mounted on his shoulder has been severely damaged during the last scuffle with a particularly insistent Reginlaze. He still has plenty of armament though – sufficient to at least administer significant destruction against those who are foolish enough to engage him in a one-on-one fight.

 

His sea-green gaze is piercing, darting left and right in quick succession to try and see through the thick sheen of red dust swirling a wild waltz that refuses to settle as multiple mobile suits drift and cross paths in such speed only the sun catches glimpses of their shapes in specks of reflected light against metal.

 

In the back of his mind, Yuri can faintly make out the other man’s voice but his focus has been splashed bright red with fresh blood and the endless fury brought on by the memory of those animals in human disguise, their voices and words and agony inflicted by them that still rips him away from peaceful slumber, causing him to wake up drenched in cold sweat and lingering fear.

 

“I’m not letting those bastards get away this time,” Yuri grits out, fingers drumming irritably on the control grips as he searches for the ragged shapes of the enemy troop’s Reginlazes and Hugos.

 

As big and bulky as these machines are, in this thick curtain of dust, they are impossible to detect with the naked eye.

 

Yuri waits, the coldness in his eyes unforgiving. He’s waited for this chance for almost a year since the day Yuuri Katsuki found him among the wreckage of what used to be one of Afanasiy’s largest ships; a few minutes’ time means nothing to him right now.

 

“Yuri Plisetsky, fall back, right now.” Otabek Altin’s usually quiet and collected voice is clipped with impatience and tinged with a hint of panic as he watches the elegant lines of his friend’s mobile suit glinting faintly in the distant sunlight.

 

“You weren’t there, Otabek,” the statement isn’t meant to be in any way accusative, but the deep-seated vehemence breaks open the surface of his whisper, a chilling tone that makes even one of the best pilots in Korishiro Corps shudder. “You have no idea what they’ve done to me – to the others.”

 

Guang Hong Ji – a shy, sensitive boy of Chinese descent who was so frail when he was first captured by Afanasiy that Yuri thought he wasn’t going to make it through the Alaya-Vijnana implanting operation.

 

Leo de la Iglesia – a dark-skinned boy from the Americas with eyes full of hope and determination that gradually diminished as he became numb to the physical pain and battle scars, and the emotional agony of losing comrades who fought alongside him.

 

Mila Babicheva – a feisty red-head from what used to be Russia who rebelled against her captors until she became quieter and more withdrawn as bruises and lashes bloomed all over her body like a field of violets.

 

And those are just the ones who survived long enough – lucky enough, perhaps – for them to be rescued by the crew of Korishiro when the wall that had been constructed to confine them and iron chains thick and heavy around their necks were tear apart by Yuuri Katsuki and his Gundam Saleos.

 

Of course, back then, they had no idea of the influence and power, as well as the danger that comes along with it, that having a Gundam frame on their side would entail.  

 

Otabek’s voice filters through the stark images of his mind, tainted with rusted blood and bitter fury.

 

“Remember what Mr. Nikiforov said! Retrieve and secure the Gundam frame, and––”

 

Yuri can’t hear Otabek’s next words.

 

He breathes out, limp, blond locks fluttering and sticking to his sweat-stained cheek. His fingers grip the controls reflexively the moment Rhyannon’s sensors signal two mobile suits heading his way from opposite directions.

 

From the midst of the dust storm, two mobile suits armoured in teal and grey, with Afanasiy’s insignia of a red and yellow phoenix branded on their shoulders, emerge at full speed like some crazed ghouls seeking blood and violence.

 

Yuri will give it to them: bruised skin, broken bones, severed limbs, and pain beyond comprehension.

 

He pulls out his railguns and shoot at both units without hesitation, aiming directly for where the cockpits would be located on the robotic suits.

 

The one to his left explodes immediately, scattering fireworks of spitting flames and raining shrapnel.

 

His eyes flash towards the remaining Reginlaze, now less than five meters away with its blade brandished and ready. Yuri grins, the expression horrifyingly sharp and callous, and he shifts his control grip to face the oncoming attack as he unsheathes his own smaller assault knives.

 

Without any warning, Yuri throws one of the knives towards the Reginlaze, and the blade lodges itself into the crook of the mobile suit’s right shoulder, successfully disabling its sword-wielding arm. The young pilot wastes no time to get closer after one well-aimed kick lands his opponent flat and hissing smoke on the ground, Rhyannon’s other knife raised in an angle perfect for stabbing right through the cockpit of the other mobile weapon.

 

Blood roars in Yuri’s ears, and exhilaration rushes through his body like a living beast, making his eyes unnaturally bright and his lips twisted into a grin.

 

That’s when a shadow descends from above. Silent and unexpected as death.

 

Rhyannon alerts him much too late, the echo of the urgent beeping in his cockpit enshrouding his other senses.

 

“Yuri––!”

 

He can barely make out Otabek’s voice – he can always hear Otabek amongst the chaos. It’s a deep, rumbling river that always gives him a sense of calm when he fears the dark, uncontrollable storm of his emotions threatening to drag him past that threshold between sanity and madness.

 

It’s a thin line that Yuri has been straddling for these past long months.

 

The solid weight of the other mobile suit crushes him from the top, and the deafening collision – like a prolonged clap of thunder invoked by the angry gods – rings in his ears long after the impact.

 

A hit from a mace from the side sends him sprawling on the ground, and then the Hugo that’s been attacking him is stepping on him to ensure he’s not going anywhere. Metal groans and creaks around Yuri from the pressure, the monitor screens cracking and blacking out, and the safety belts strapped across his bare chest is cutting into his skin and pressing sharply against bones.

 

Black oils leak through breakages, and glittering sparks and small flames sputter from Rhyannon’s broken circuits as the Hugo savagely punches into Yuri’s battered mobile suit.  

 

The last thing he remembers is Otabek yelling into the intercom, “Yuri! Stay with me, damn it! Mr. Katsuki, we need to––”

 

‘I don’t need to be saved,’ Yuri thinks, fingers slipping off from the control panel.

 

He’s strong enough.

 

A rivulet of red drips into his eyes, sticky and warm, but he feels no pain, just a strange white noise buzzing in his ears.

 

He opens his mouth, prepared to protest but instead of words, he coughs out blood that tasted coppery sweet on his tongue.

 

It’s familiar and comforting, and Yuri thinks that’s the scariest part of all.

 

-

 

The rising sun on Mars is dazzling – disorienting, almost.

 

“Shouldn’t you still be resting in bed?”

 

Otabek settles beside him, two cans of chocolate-flavored protein drink in his hand, and he offers one to the other man.

 

“I got bored,” Yuri takes it with a nod of thanks, but he doesn’t drink it, just rolls the can between his hands.

 

Loose strands of his hair that have escaped the half-ponytail tied messily behind his head flutter in the breeze and fall into his eyes. Yuri makes no movement to fix it.

 

“That’s what I figured,” Otabek chuckles, the sound low and smoky. He takes a swig out of his own can, wincing when the saccharine taste of the artificial flavor hits his palette.

 

“How’s your fractured ribs?”

 

It’s small talk, but that’s fine by both of them. The morning is quiet, the Korishiro base a peaceful sanctuary without its usual fanfare during the day.

 

“Fine,” he replies, lips twitching, “still hurts like a bitch, but I’m alive, so that’s always a plus.”

 

His gaze is focused on the horizon, the roseate light of dawn making his pale blond hair gleam. There’s no humor in that bitter smile.

 

“About that, Yuri…” Otabek starts, but hesitates to continue. Indecision has never been a trait of the 19-year-old, who has become one of Korishiro’s youngest and most capable mobile suit pilot, and dependable leader of the Human Debris (though they don’t use that term anymore since the rebellion) – those who were orphaned at a young age and sold cheaply as child soldiers through various means.  

 

“Am I grounded from piloting Rhyannon?”

 

“What?” Otabek turns towards him with a confused frown. “What would make you assume that?”

 

“Mila told me. You had a long talk with Nikiforov the day after we came back…” Yuri places the beverage down beside him, and he turns to face Otabek, teeth worrying his lower lip. “She said neither you nor Katsuki would talk about the meeting though, so it must have been something serious. Was it about me?”  

 

“Mr. Nikiforov was concerned about you,” Otabek treads carefully, knowing full well that Viktor Nikiforov, founder of Korishiro Corps who’s known for his impertinent but oddly genuine nature, is not Yuri’s favourite person.

 

Yuri scoffs in a sharp exhale but keeps his mouth shut.

 

“Mr. Katsuki and I as well,” Otabek’s tone turns softer, dark gaze lowering to stare at the half-empty can in his hands. “What you did back there was reckless; you could have gotten yourself killed––”

 

“We completed the mission, didn’t we? That’s the most important part, isn’t it?” Yuri snaps, the frustration in his voice churning and the fire in his eyes barely contained. He lowers his torso into a defensive pose, but the sudden movement jostles his wound, and he hisses in pain while bracing a protective arm around his abdomen.

 

Otabek begins to reach for him, but when he sees Yuri curls further away, wordlessly refraining from being touched, the other man relents and heaves a soft sigh. 

 

“Not if it means having one of our own injured,” he tries to reason. “We could have retrieved the Gundam frame without engaging the enemy, but you…” Otabek sends him a wary glance then, “don’t try to deny it, Yuri, but you _wanted_ to fight them, didn’t you?”

 

“So what if I did?” No hesitation or a hint of repentance at all. “If you’d experienced what I had – what Mila and Leo and Guang Hong had – you’d do the same.”

 

“I’d seen what they did to you and the others; I was there,” Otabek reminds him, and the image of when they first found the four youngsters in the rubble of the ruined ship was still painfully fresh in his mind: the bruised, battle-hardened bodies had been beaten – worst, they had been abused by adults who had exploited them for their own gains. He swallows hard and continues, “and I’m not about to tell you to be a saint and forgive those bastards, but letting the hate and anger control you like that – that’s dangerous.”

 

Otabek doesn’t want to say more – doesn’t want to belittle Yuri’s emotions or trespass into a territory he has no right to be in.

 

“You figure I don’t know that?” Yuri bites out after a shaky breath, gaze downcast. “Why’d you think I offered to go solo in the first place?”

 

He’s not responsible for anyone else’s lives but his own; he’s always lived by that rule. That’s how he survives. That’s all he knows how.

 

“Because Viktor can see right through you,” Otabek says, and he drains the last of the beverage before continuing, “because he knows, with that temper of yours, you’ll end up injured – or dead – if you’d gone on your own.”

 

He’s not wrong – Viktor does care, even if he has an annoying and strange way of expressing it – and Yuri hates that even more.

 

“You needed someone there to tell you to stop, and I guess that was why Mr. Katsuki and I were chosen for this mission as well.”   

 

“If he’s so worried, then why’d he let me go anyway?”

 

“You’re one of the best pilots we have, and Mr. Nikiforov acknowledges that and trusts that you will deliver in the end,” Otabek says with a faint smile, a quiet sense of pride in the curve of his lips.  

 

The older pilot turns to him once more, eyes searching calmly until Yuuri glances up to meet his gaze.

 

Something in Yuri’s eyes waver – the desire to believe in Otabek’s words, the wish to let go of the past.

 

“The thing about working in a team is that you have to trust others: you have your family’s backs, and they have yours,” he leans towards Yuri, and when he senses that the blond has no intention to back away, Otabek lifts his hand and carefully brushes Yuri’s bangs out of the way, winding the strands behind the curve of his ear before cradling his jaw.

 

At this range, Otabek can count the lashes framing Yuri’s sea-green eyes, perplexed and curious by their proximity.

 

Otabek needs him to understand this. “Yuri, you’re not in Afanasiy anymore; you don’t have to fight by yourself.”

 

Maybe that’s the issue, Yuri doesn’t voice out his thoughts, just quietly mulling over Otabek’s words, the warmth of the other man’s fingertips a slight but pleasant distraction.

 

It’s difficult for him to place his trust in others.

 

He’s never seen that as a problem before – never really considered it – but Otabek has saved him time and time again since he’s been accepted as part of the Korishiro family, and Yuuri – sweet, meddling, quiet-spoken Yuuri who’s like an elder brother to the younger members in Korishiro – can be fierce and frightening when his family’s lives are endangered. The trail of wreckages of those who had threatened Korishiro left behind by Saleos should be proof of that.

 

Yuri feels the soft caress of Otabek’s thumb across his cheek, the gesture simple yet filled to the brim with something he can’t quite name, only that it causes his face to heat up and his blood to thrum a melody not unlike the adrenaline before a battle.

 

But this strange pull in his body is unlike any sensation Yuri has ever felt, and he finds himself grasping the sleeves of Otabek’s jacket, knuckles tensed and wide eyes unable to look away from the other man.

 

“Yuri…?”

 

Wetness stings his eyes, and he can’t comprehend what’s happening at first. He tries to blink it away, but it only serves to blur his vision more: hot tears rolling down his cheeks and breaths shuddering to catch up.

 

Yuri can’t remember the last time he cried. Maybe it was when he said goodbye to his grandpa back at the spaceport on Earth six years ago?

 

He had cried only once while he was imprisoned by Afanasiy after an especially grueling training session, which had involved lots of mobile suit simulation and even more beatings afterwards during physical drills. Later, he had sobbed into the dirty sheets on his narrow bunk bed while the other children feigned ignorance. He’d thought about his grandfather, still living and relatively safe on Earth thanks to the remaining savings he’d sent not too long ago.

 

That was when he made a promise to himself.

 

Otabek is the first person to see him shed tears like this since then – defenseless, all choked sobs and ugly crying that Yuri is unable to stop – and he thinks he should be afraid, ashamed, but when Otabek wordlessly wraps his arms around him, being extra careful not to bump against his wounds, Yuri can only feel thankful as a sense of relief flows through him like a serene current.

 

He lets go, bit by bit.

 

There’ll always be a small part of him clinging to the past – not because of fond reminiscence but because that imperfect fragment is one of the pieces that makes him who he is. Yet once he accepts that and moves on, Yuri figures that life on Mars, with those whom he calls brothers and sisters, is going to be better than he’s ever hoped for.

 

“Yuri, what’s the matter? Did I hurt you? Should I––?” Otabek starts to pull himself away, unsure of what to do.

 

“Don’t you dare,” Yuri sniffs, pulling him closer, or as close as it’s possible for his injuries to not protest too much.

 

Otabek’s eyes soften into a warmer russet, and he stays there, palm on the back of Yuri’s neck, as they wait for the younger man to calm down. Violent shaking eventually turns to slight tremors, and then he’s still as a statue.

 

“Better?”

 

Yuri nods into his shoulder.

 

“Woah woah, are we interrupting a moment here? Please excuse us!”

 

A cheerful melodious voice bursts through their reverie, and the speaker, a young woman with short, burgundy curls and bright green eyes, is currently draping herself all over another female with tanned skin and long dark hair bunched up messily into a ponytail as if the definition of “personal space” doesn’t exist in her dictionary.

 

The other woman doesn’t seem to mind much, though she does send her companion a meaningful glare.

 

Her exasperated “Mila, don’t be rude!” is said at the same time as Yuri’s nonchalant “Mila, fuck off.”

 

Yuri leans away from Otabek, cheeks rosy and streaked with drying tear marks that he tries to rub away with the sleeve of his too-big jacket.

 

“Sara, Yuri’s being mean to me again!” Mila Babacheva clings closer to her friend, who can only tug her along as she smiles apologetically at the two men.

 

“Come on, you little monster, didn’t you say you want to see the upgraded armament for your Stagioni?” Sara Crispino laughs and takes Mila’s hand in hers. Neither seems to be bothered by the gesture, and Yuri and Otabek share a knowing glance.

 

“Heading to the hanger?” Otabek asks as he gets on his feet.

 

“Yeah,” Sara nods, “you and Yuri should come, too. Yuuko’s purchased some new parts and she’s been itching to do some upgrades on Ulises.”

 

“I hope she hasn’t done anything to it yet,” Otabek looks uncharacteristically startled and even a bit distressed at the mention of upgrades and the name of his mobile suit in the same sentence.

 

Mila and Sara burst into simultaneous laughter, and even Yuri can’t help the small grin on his face as they recall the failure of one particular upgrade a few months ago.

 

“Never forget the hip canons,” Sara giggles.

 

Needless to say, putting short barrel canons on a lightweight class mobile suit’s waist has not been one of Yuuko’s brightest ideas.

 

As the four of them make their way to the hanger, Yuri asks, “How bad is Rhyannon’s condition?”

 

Sara glances over at the young pilot before setting her eyes forward again, “Yuuko was mad when they hauled it in.”

 

Yuri gulps nervously.

 

Yuuko never gets mad. She’s usually easy-going and greets everyone with a friendly smile; her only fanatic obsession is taking apart and putting together the mechanical parts of mobile suits. If Yuuko had been mad, Yuri figures he must have fucked up quite royally.

 

“That bad, huh?” he only says, throat dry, though his facial expression remains impassive.

 

“She said her team will need at least another week with it before it’s fully repaired,” Sara adds, and she watches with amusement as Yuri’s face turns another shade paler.

 

“Oh, hell,” Yuri mutters, stalling midway, “maybe I should, uh, wait until Yuuko’s done with the repairs before I see her. I’m sure she doesn’t want to be bothered when she’s clearly busy.”

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Otabek blocks his way before Yuri can think about turning back. “You have to help me convince Yuuko to stay away from adding anything ridiculous on Ulises. We have another assignment next week and I don’t want a repeat of the hip cannons.”

 

The women snicker behind him, but Otabek looks serious, imploring Yuri with his earnest eyes.

 

Staring at Otabek’s openly honest expression – rarely seen on the usually stoic pilot – Yuri hides the trace of a smile threatening to show on his lips by turning his head slightly away, murmuring, “Fine. Just this once – as thanks for saving my ass. Again.”

 

“Aww, this is great, isn’t it, Sara? Look at them!”

 

“Yes, yes,” Sara ruffles the other woman’s hair affectionately, “now let’s get going before Yuuko decides to upgrade everyone’s mobile suits.”

 

Their pace significantly quickens after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Definitions (within Iron-Blooded Orphans Universe):
> 
> \- Gundam frames: A series of 72 mobile suit frames that were produced and developed by Gjallarhorn (an international peacekeeping force) during the Calamity War 300 years ago; the Ahab particles generated by the two Ahab Reactors within each suit give it a lot of powers, which can be burdensome on the pilot’s body since man and suit are connected through the Alaya-Vijnana system.
> 
> \- Alaya-Vijnana system: A man-machine interface implant that improves a pilot’s spatial skills and reactions while piloting a mobile suit. The surgery to get the implants is risky and many have died during the process. 
> 
> \- Mobile suits: A type of mobile weapon that is a humanoid combat vehicle. I.E. Giant robots that people can pilot even in space. 
> 
> I'm also planning to write a Mila/Sara one-shot in this AU for MilaSara Week in March, so... yeah.


End file.
